


she put her love down, soft and sweet

by elinadsy



Category: Skulduggery Pleasant - Derek Landy
Genre: F/M, Mentions of minor characters, NSFW, Other, minor OC's - Freeform, sex scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2019-04-23 16:31:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14336529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elinadsy/pseuds/elinadsy
Summary: Years pass. The relationship blossoms.or; Skulduggery and Valkyrie prepare to go undercover, but don't quite get that far.





	she put her love down, soft and sweet

Looking back, she thinks it first starts in 2049, when Valkyrie goes undercover at a bar to pick up a serial killer with a painfully stereotypical penchant for killing women out drinking by themselves. She lets him lure her out into the alleyway, and the moment he tries to draw her into a kiss, Skulduggery drops from the sky and knocks him out _cold_.

 “I had it under control,” Valkyrie frowns as she shackles the unconscious man. “And you ripped my dress.”

 He shrugs. “He had a knife.”

 “So? I have guns.”

 He looks at her. “You’re unarmed-”

 She flexes her arms. He laughs, then looks away.

 “Why take any unnecessary risks?” is all he’ll say on the subject.

-

She goes on a date in 2052, the first in almost a decade. It’s a late night decision after drunkenly installing a dating app during a movie marathon with Tanith. Their name is Adeline Wednesday, and when Skulduggery drops by to find her getting ready for a date, he insists on driving her there. And picking her up.

 “What if I go home with them?” Valkyrie says pointedly. His fingers tighten on the steering wheel.

 “Then you can catch an Uber home,” he says casually. “I’m heading in that direction. It’s no skin off my nose.”

 “You don’t have a nose.”

 “I don’t have any skin, either,” he says ambiguously.

 Adeline is nice, but Valkyrie doesn’t go home with them. They’re a little too eager to please, a little too… something. And their voice is grating.

 Skulduggery picks her up. They go get ice-cream. Valkyrie deletes the dating app.

-

2061\. The Requiem Ball. Valkyrie and Skulduggery go of course, and Valkyrie spends the entire night hating it. It makes her think of when China walks into a room; equal parts admiration to hatred. She stays by Skulduggery’s side the entire time; China is busy with some crisis or another, and Tanith is on a holiday with her girlfriend.

 A not unattractive woman flirts with her, an Italian Neoteric-cum-Adept. Her name is Spiritasa Fuoco, and she gently rests a hand on Valkyrie’s forearm as she says something sultry, and Valkyrie automatically jerks away before she can stop herself. Spiritisa hesitates and Valkyrie laughs, mumbles an apology, drowns her embarrassment in her wine. Spiritisa is lovely, sexy, but Valkyrie steps away apologetically to go get a refill.

 She can feel Skulduggery’s eyes on her from across the room. He doesn’t mention it later as he drives her home, but he rests his hand on her arm as he walks her to her door and it feels like it belongs there.

-

In 2069, Skulduggery and her spend the month hiking through the forest in North America on the east coast, just up from Oregon, looking for the source of a reporting of the Jersey Devil.

 What they actually find is a chimera, which while far less distressing to deal with, is a lot messier. Valkyrie comes out of it covered in mud and blood (not her own, fortunately), and when they make their way back to the log cabin they’ve based themselves at, she goes straight to the bathroom. Strips herself of the badly made magic clothes she wasted her money on, all ripped and useless, and she showers.

 The hot water feels exceptional and she lathers herself up, scrubbing, but there’s some caked mud in her hair she just can’t get rid of with the shower alone.

 “Skulduggery,” she calls, wrapping the towel around the clean bits of her.

 “Yes?” he replies.

 “I’m decent, come in here for a second.”

 He does hesitantly, and when he see she’s clothed, looks more at ease.

 “You seem to have something in your hair.”

 “Ha ha,” she says. “I can’t get it out, can you help me?”

 He tries lifting the mud and water out, but it tugs badly on her scalp and she grimaces. He stops immediately. “You might have to cut some of this off,” he says apologetically. “It’s quite badly knotted.”

 She looks at herself in the mirror. Several giant mud dreadlocks that start from just below her collar bone. She sighs.

 “Alright,” Valkyrie says sadly. “Try to make it look good.”

 He combs through the untangled part of her hair, crown to jaw, and she leans into his touch before she can stop herself. He stills, and she blushes, moves away so he can cut off the chunks with a gentle, but sharp and expertly controlled blade of air.

 Locks fall to the ground, mud splattering. Skulduggery, to his credit, tries to make it look nice. It feels strange, her head suddenly lighter.

 “Please don’t kill me,” he says, as he passes her a mirror.

 It isn’t bad. Not all, actually, curt short to the nape of her neck and resting along her jawline.

 “Huh.” She turns her head to and fro. “Not bad.”

 She turns back to him, see how he’s looking at her.

 “Right” she asks, heart sinking.

 “Not at all,” he says gruffly, turning away.

 When they get back to Ireland, she gets it shaped a little more professionally, but not too much, keeps it as close to the original thing as possible.

 It’s more practical, anyway.

-

A couple of years later, Valkyrie lazes on his couch, eating pizza while watching reruns of _Wizard City_ , a stupid old Roarhaven based sitcom from 2040. Skulduggery is sitting next to her, reading a book, and she shifts positions, her leg pressing against his. Quite unconsciously, she assumes, he rests his hand on her knee and his thumb rubs slow circles. She stills, and he stops.

 He takes his hand away, never looking up from his book. She pretends she didn’t even notice.

-

Several months later again, they get sent to a remote mountain top house to investigate a murder. The tiny hotel room they stay in doesn’t even have an armchair for Skulduggery to meditate in while Valkyrie takes the bed.

 So after a long day of pushing through snow and questioning unfriendly Swiss lumberjacks, even Skulduggery is tired. She can see it in his posture, in how his leg twitches. They get back to the hotel and get ready for bed and Skulduggery goes to sit cross legged on the floor and she shuffles over on the bed, pats the quilt.

 “Come on,” she says.

 “I’m fine,” he assures her.

 “Well, I’m not. Get up here.”

 So he lays on the bed next to her. Her heart is in her throat, even though he’s lying fully clothed on top of the quilt.

 “I feel like we should be talking about boys, or something,” Valkyrie jokes.

 “Do you _want_ to talk about boys?” Skulduggery says, turning his head to her in the dark. She can see the outline of his cheekbones.

 “Not really. Do you?”

 “The only boy I want to talk about is the murderer who dragged us up here,” he says darkly.

 “Fair,” she says, wiggling her toes. “I’m freezing. Why can’t the murderers do this shit in Hawaii?”

 “Would you like me to hold you?” he says.

 “Yes please.”

 He awkwardly stretches his arm over the thick doona and pats her side, and she laughs, thrilling at this entire situation.

 “Get under here,” she jokes. “How are you gonna spoon me with thirty ducks worth of feathers between us?”

 He takes his arm back. “An excellent point,” he says. But he doesn’t slip beneath the covers.

 She doesn’t know how to tell him she wasn’t joking without sounding desperate, so she lays there all night and doesn’t get a wink of sleep.

-

It comes to an unexpected head when the next Reqiuem Ball comes around, and the hosts are sent several threats by an unknown party. Skulduggery and Valkyrie are requested, but are relieved of coming up with their own plans; the hosts have their own.

“This is an exceptionally bad idea,” Skulduggery says from his seat in the corner.

 “Is that so?” Valkyrie says idly, as Omen carefully tattoos her collarbones, leaving nothing but warmth and black marks that fade into her skin like watercolor. “Omen, what do you think?”

 “Are you actually asking me, or do you just want me to back you up?” he mumbles, taking out a small eye glass to peer at his work.

 “You used to be such an obedient, quiet kid,” Valkyrie grumbles.

 “He gets that from you,” Skulduggery says.

 “It’s not your best plan,” Omen tells them.

 “Exactly,” Skulduggery nods.

 “But it’s not as bad as Skulduggery’s plan last year to just, and I _quote_ , _kick down the front door of the Church and see what happens_ ,” Omen continues.

 “You’re so right, Omen,” Valkyrie nods. “ _That’s_ what you get from me. How much longer is this going to take?”

 “Do you want a good job or a quick one?”

 She scowls. “China did my arm tattoo in like, an _hour_.”

 “Mistress Sorrows has been tattooing sigils for almost half a millenia,” Omen reminds her. “When I’ve had more than a few decades, _then_ you can complain to me.”

 “Fine, fine,” she sighs, gesturing carefully with her hand; a drink with a straw floats into her grip and she very slowly sips from it.

 “Really?” Skulduggery says. “You’re going to risk the sigils not working for some _lemonade_?”

 “I’m thirsty,” she says imploringly, batting her eyes at him.

 “Fine,” he grumbles, and takes the cup from her, holding it within range so she can still slurp from the straw.

 “Very cute,” Omen says, and Valkyrie pretends not to hear.

-

“Did you pack socks?”

 Valkyrie frowns at him. His facade today is a long nosed, dark skinned man with sleepy black eyes. “Why would I pack socks?”

 He blinks at her. “Don’t you plan to wear shoes?”

 “It’s _summer_.”

 “An excellent point,” he concedes. “But you can’t run in flip flops.”

 “Watch me,” she says, and starts jogging down the terminal. One of the flip flops flies into the air as she trips over herself, and Skulduggery catches it.

 “You’re as elegant as ever,” he says cheerfully. She sticks her leg out and he bends down to slip it back on her expectantly out stretched foot.

 “I’m not wearing my boots to the Requiem Ball,” she says haughtily. “I’m meant to be a shipping tycoon’s wife, for God’s sake.”

 “Maybe she’s a practical wife. Who likes to wear boots.”

 She nods her head, and then shakes her head. “Yeah, nah. Not happening.”

 “Maybe Hansard likes women who wears boots.”

 “I don’t care what he likes,” she says lazily. They round the corner and come to gate thirty two. “I’m wearing heels. Tall ones.”

 “Absurdly tall ones?”

 “Yes.”

 “Well. It’s a good thing you’re so graceful, then,” Skulduggery says, and steps out of punching reach.

 

-

When Skulduggery had told her they would be flying, she had demanded first class seats after years of being foisted into economy, and he had looked at her.

  _Do I look like I fly cattle class?_ he had said, producing two tickets from within his pockets.

It’s only a two and a half hours, but it’s a _luxurious_ two and a half hours. Valkyrie has a nice glass of wine, pats her face with a hot towel, and reclines on the bed equipped with a shiatsu massager.

 They’re by the window, and Skulduggery is going through his crystal tablet, reading up on the files Hansard had sent them.

 “I trust you’ve read up on just who you’re meant to be,” Skulduggery says.

 Valkyrie flips up her eye mask. “Of course I have.”

 “Mmhm. Is that so?”

 “Of course,” she says, reaching for a strawberry. He smacks her hand. “Hey!”

 “Prove it,” he says, moving the fruit out of her reach. She pouts at him.

 “Tabitha Nimble, English, born 1882, married Hansard in 2064.”

 He raises his brows. “Impressive. You’ve all the memory of a third grader.”

 “She likes her coffee black, her men rich, and her clothes _expensive_. She’s an Elemental, used to work in the English Sanctuary where she made several enemies with her controversial law making it illegal for English sorcerers to work in mortal businesses after Gladly vs. The Sanctuary in 2052.”

 “Better,” Skulduggery says, and offers her a strawberry. She opens her mouth wide. He sighs, but deposits it in her mouth with a look she knows is reluctant affection.

 “I _have_ been working the Arbiter Corps with you for almost half a century,” Valkyrie says smugly.

 He raises an eyebrow at her. “Is that so? How time flies when you’re having fun.”

 She laughs

 “Also, apparently Tabitha can be very charming,” Skulduggery says. “So, you know. Try your best there.”

 “Well, Hansard’s handsome,” she says lazily. “So good luck with _that_.”

 “You wound me, my dear,” Skulduggery pouts, but his voice is warm as the sun pouring in through the window.

-

The drive up the mountain top is long and boring. At least the car isn’t purple, though.

 Valkyrie falls asleep almost immediately to Skulduggery’s playlist of gentle blues music, and wakes up in front of a castle. Skulduggery’s facade is still on; Hansard had informed them mortals would be onsite.

 “Oh. _Wow_.”

 “You’d think at the ripe age of eighty six, your vocabulary would have expanded a little.”

 “ _You’d think at the ripe age of-_ ” she repeats back to him mockingly. “It’s a _castle_ ,” she exclaims. “Look at it! It’s beautiful!”

 “You’ve seen castles. Intimately, in fact.”

 She wiggles her eyebrows. “I’ve seen a _lot_ of things intimately.”

 He clears his throat. “Yes. Well. Oh, look, there’s Hansard,” he says, and she frowns at his back as he walks to the entrance where Hansard is indeed standing, waving in greeting.

 She jogs after him, shivering at the wind.

 “I thought it was meant to be summer,” she complains.

 “Hello to you too,” Hansard smiles. He’s not as handsome as she remembers. “Thank you both once again for making the trek up here.”

“We go where we’re needed,” Skulduggery says.

“Especially when there’s free food and booze,” Valkyrie adds.

 Hansard leads them through the antechamber. Waiters and designers flit in and out around them, setting up decorations. It’s quite pretty, a nice change from the dark, dank depths that Valkyrie’s frequented in her times as an Arbiter, and it’s been a while since she went to a nice party.

 “Looks good,” she comments.

 “Yes, Tabitha’s quite disappointed she won’t get to see it herself. As am I.”

 “There’ll be many more Requiem Balls in our lifetimes,” Skulduggery shrugs.

 “Yeah, but this is _real_ nice,” Valkyrie marvels.

 “I’ll show you to the surveillance room, shall I?” Hansard says.

 “Lead the way.”

-

It’s full of polished crystal monitors, faintly engraved at the edges with dozens of sigils, and significantly more impressive than anything Valkyrie owns.

 “Why doesn’t your house look like this?” she asks Skulduggery after Hansard leaves them to familiarise themselves with the technology and review previous footage.

 “Because I don’t have a hundred and forty three rooms to monitor,” he says, motioning with his hand. Images and video flicks by. His hat sits next to him.

 “Well, you still have _eight_ rooms.”

 “All of them full of riches and vulnerable political martyrs,” he says dryly. She huffs, and stands behind him.

 “Anything useful?” she asks.

 “Not yet,” he says. “But I suspect the culprit will be disguised as one of the designers, or one of the waiting staff.”

 “Makes sense,” she concedes, and after a few seconds, wraps her arms around his neck, rests her chin on his head. He shifts a little in his seat. “That guy with the mustache looks pretty shifty.”

 “ _I_ had a mustache once,” Skulduggery says.

 “And I bet you looked shifty as hell.”

 “I looked like Clark Gable. In fact, I suspect he stole the look from _me._ ”

 She squints down at him. “You were a skeleton when Clark Gable was alive. How could you have grown a mustache?”

 “Magic,” he says immediately. “And maybe some glue. And some reluctantly donated hair.”  

 “I hate you,” she laughs, and straightens up. Skulduggery makes a noise and leans back into her before she can let go of him. Surprised, she looks back at the monitor.

 “What did you see?”

 He doesn’t answer immediately. “Nothing. I thought I saw something… suspicious.”

 “Like what?” she asks, squinting at the screen, leaning over his head, stomach pressing against his skull.

 He makes another noise. “Nothing. Never mind.”

 “Time to get those eyes checked,” she says, bemused. “I’m going to go find Kray.”

 “Watch out for shifty mustachioed men,” Skulduggery says, patting her hand where it rests on his shoulder, and she leaves the room.

 She retraces her steps back to the main antechamber, and asks several passing people where Hansard is. Since all the waiting staff and designers are mortals, she doesn’t worry about being recognised. None of them can tell her, though, which sets her alarm bells off.

 Luckily, just as she’s readying the tingle of magic in her hand and setting to kick down some doors, she rounds a corner to find him testing entrees in the kitchen with the head caterer.

 “Jeez,” she says. “There you are.”

 “Valkyrie,” he smiles. “Would you like some lobster?”

 She pats her stomach. “Nah, gotta stay light on my feet. Can you show me around a bit more? I wanna get the lay of the land.”

 “Of course.”

 He takes her on a tour of the castle, showing her all the spare, lush bedrooms. (Several of them, memorably, have mirrored ceilings. She refrains from commenting.)

 “So, anyone look particularly suss to you?” she says in a quiet voice as they climb the stairs to the upper level.

 “All of them have behaved professionally so far,” he says. “Why, has someone caught your eye?”

 “Not yet,” she admits. “But to be fair, there’s about two hundred people here right now. It’ll be easier once everyone’s in one room.”

 “As long as no-one gets hurt,” Hansard says, taking out some keys to unlock the second landing. “The Krays have never hosted the Ball before. I’d like it to go well, even if I’m not here for it.”

 Valkyrie shrugs. “Can’t make any promises, unfortunately.”

 He grins at her. “Yes, Skulduggery said as much. He’s still going over the footage, I take it?”

 “Mmhmm.”

 “You two seem a closer than I remember.”

 She shrugs, and doesn’t meet his eyes. “Working with someone for almost a century will do that.”

 “Of course,” he says.

 “So how did you hook up with Tabitha?” she asks quickly.

 “I like powerful women,” Hansard says, flashes her a smile. She remembers how that smile had affected her when she was a teenager. Now it’s just a harmless thing that doesn’t even tickle her fancy.

 “Older women, too,” she says. “Is that why I never caught your eye?” she adds jokingly.

 “Not at all,” he says, and when she waits for him to elaborate, he doesn’t.

 “Right,” she says. “Well, you didn’t answer my other question.”

 “Tabitha was at one of the meetings I went to go to in order to expand the Kray business across Europe. We hit it off.”

 “I’ve heard she’s… opinionated.”

 He smiles. It’s a genuine thing borne of real affection. “Yes. That she is. You’d like her, I think.”

 “Ah, but would she like _me_?”

 Hansard laughs. “No, I suppose not.”

 Valkyrie shrugs. “Can’t win them all, I guess,” she says, that old weight still on her shoulders. Skulduggery had told her once it would never go away. Not really.

  _But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try_ , he had added.

 “There’s going to be a few people there who know her quite well, obviously,” Hansard continues. “You’ll have a couple of days to get to know her mannerisms as best you can.”

 “No pressure, huh?”

 “None at all,” he says, leading her out onto the balcony. The view is stunning, sweeping mountain tops and crisp blue skies, darkening as the sun sets.

 “Nice view.”

 “It’s something, I suppose,” he says. “Is there anywhere else you’d like to look?”

 She shakes her head. “I’ll do another sweep with Skulduggery a little later.”

 “In that case, I’ll leave you to it. I have a main course to taste,” he says, and leaves her there.

 She stares out at the view, her thoughts settling into stillness.

 “I was wondering when he’d leave,” Skulduggery says.

 “And I was wondering if you’d lost your touch,” she teases without turning. “You’re lucky Kray isn’t an Elemental. He would have read your air from miles away.”

 “Did you see how he paused on that third key when he was opening the door to his floor?” Skulduggery murmurs, leaning against the rail, close to her.

 “Did _you_ see the mirrored ceilings?” she grins. “Maybe that’s his sex dungeon key.”

 “Hansard Kray is as vanilla as they come,” Skulduggery says. “I highly doubt it was a key to a BDSM haven.”

 She laughs. “And how would you know what BDSM is? Was BDSM even a thing back in the sixteen hundreds?”

 “Obviously not. We were all too busy dying of the plague. Did you notice the locked doors to the basement?”

 “Of course I did,” she says. “But I think Hansard is probably just a normal dude with a normal basement he doesn’t want randos to see.”

 “ _Randos_?”

 “I may have been watching some early 2000 television recently.”

 “Be that as it may, it’s my job to be suspicious.”

 Valkyrie sighs, turns around to look at the castle. “Can’t we just go to a nice party for once?”

 “Obviously not. Come now, let’s go meet the woman whose reputation you’ll likely be destroying.”

-

Tabitha Nimble is a tall woman with long blond tresses of hair and a sharp nose with even sharper eyes, clad in a dress that’s so bright it makes Valkyrie’s eyes water.

 “Nice to meet you,” Valkyrie says, and shakes her hand. There’s dislike in Tabitha’s eyes, but Valkyrie ignores it. She’s used to it by now, and Tabitha is too professional to show it.

 “Thank you for coming all this way,” Tabitha says, flicking her hair over her shoulder. Valkyrie almost misses her long hair watching her do it. “Mr. Pleasant has told me you’ll be shadowing me for the next few days.”

 “Yep,” Valkyrie says.

 “I can’t believe I have to miss the Ball all because some bitter idiot sent us bomb threats,” Tabitha mutters. “Ridiculous.”

 “And also potentially fatal,” Skulduggery says helpfully. Tabitha exhales through her nose.

 “We have some questions for you,” Valkyrie says. “Standard sort of stuff.”

 “Of course.”

 Skulduggery takes the lead on this one, which is a wise choice, judging by how Tabitha doesn’t want to look at her if she can help it. Valkyrie wonders if her distaste is impersonal, or whether she killed someone Tabitha knew.

 Not much she can do about that, though, so she stands behind Skulduggery as he works through the usual questions, watching Tabitha’s face carefully.

 She’s a politician through and through, her responses measured, careful. Hansard was right, though; Valkyrie can’t help but like her, if only because she doesn’t take Skulduggery’s shit.

 “Can you think of anyone in particular who could have sent you these threats?”

 Tabitha shrugs. “The entire English magical community? You’re the detective, Mr. Pleasant. Not me.”

 Skulduggery nods. “You’re absolutely correct. I hope you’ll excuse my frustration, however.”

 She smiles. “Of course. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to have my dinner. We’ll have some food sent up to your suite.”

 She leaves, and Valkyrie stands behind him, looking over his shoulder at his notes.

 “No peeking,” he says, covering the paper. She rolls her eyes.

 “You goon,” she says, and pulls his hands away. As she expected, they’re nothing but scribbles.

 “She would have been a great politician,” Valkyrie says.

 Skulduggery shrugs. “She was okay.”

 “You think she’s up to anything?”

 “We’ll see. Let’s go see where they’ve put us, though.”

-

Their shared suite is gorgeous, of course, lush and old timey with sweeping fabric and all the good stuff.

 There’s a queen bed for Valkyrie, and a plush armchair for Skulduggery, which is quite a bit nicer than the floor he usually has to sit on for these sort of assignments.

 “Fancy,” he says, settling into it. It swallows up his narrow frame immediately, and she laughs at how his head juts out from the seat.

 Their luggage is waiting for them, and Valkyrie showers as he unpacks, comes out in her towel.

 “Dry me please,” she says, holding her towel out in front of her.

 “Of course, dear,” he says, putting his hand over his eyes and turning around.

 “I’ve got the towel in front of me,” she says. He still doesn’t look up, and flicks the water off her and into the bathroom where it splashes into the shower. She fastens the towel back around her and sits next to him, crossing her legs and getting great pleasure when he looks at her exposed ankles, then looks away.

 “Can you take the facade off already?” she says.

 “I like this one,” he says. “It’s got a good nose.”

 Valkyrie makes a face. “I prefer you without a nose. You know that.”

 “Maybe I like this face. Maybe I’ve found the _one_.”

 “Nah,” she says, and reaches out, undoes his tie. She wants to say something pithy, but she’s suddenly conscious of how she’s in her towel, still.

 She undoes his tie slowly, idly noting the bob of his fake Adam’s apple.

 “I’m not making you uncomfortable, am I?” she teases, ignoring the roll of heat licking down her spine.

 He looks at her. “You could never make me uncomfortable,” he says quietly. Now it’s her who swallows, her fingers resting on his lapels. A moment passes and she undoes the top two buttons of his shirt.

 The facade has been a long, ongoing project for China, becoming a full body thing that cosmetically looks and functions just like a normal person does; a swathe of deep brown skin is revealed to her, those old tattoos marked as fresh as the day China first inked them. She brushes them both with her thumbs, and the flesh retracts into them, revealing the bones she’s grown to know so well.

 She looks up at Skulduggery, his empty eye sockets angled towards her.

 “Much better,” she says, and he tilts his head that way he does when he’s smiling.

 

-

They spend the next day familiarising themselves with the castle in depth, checking exits and any possible hidey holes. Skulduggery does a sweep for any hidden magic with the ebony wand China gave him a few years ago, and comes up blank.

 “Nothing,” he says. His facade is an ugly white man with heavy eyebrows. Valkyrie can’t take it seriously. He looks like he has a caterpillar nestling above his eyes. Valkyrie looks somewhere over his shoulder so she doesn’t have to look at them. They’re in the basement Skulduggery had his suspicions about. As far as castle basements go, it’s pretty boring.

 “Maybe it’s broken,” Valkyrie suggests when Skulduggery does yet another sweep and comes up clean.

 “Doubtful,” he says. “But interesting.”

 “Look at those scrape marks,” Valkyrie says. “Maybe a secret door?”

 “Maybe,” he concedes. They stand and look at them for a bit.

 “Well, go on,” she says.

 “Excuse me?”

 “Move the stone.”

 “This is a load bearing wall. I can’t move it.”

 “Well then, it can’t be a secret door, can it?”

 Skulduggery sighs. “Let’s keep looking.”

   They’re coming up the stairs when Hansard appears at the entrance. “Tabitha’s ready to see you both,” he tells them. “Come have some lunch.”

-

Lunch is as luxurious as their rooms; slow roasted meat, organic vegetables, nice red wine. Valkyrie tries to avoid drinking on the job, but it’s so nice she has a glass anyway, if only because the stifling awkwardness of sitting at a table some fifty foot long is a bit much.

 “Have you found anything?” Tabitha asks them. Skulduggery again leads the conversation, and Valkyrie, again, lets him, focusing on how Tabitha sits, how she looks when she’s listening, how she words her questions. Hansard sits quietly as well, consulting with one of the decoratord about the band’s set up.

 The discussion devolves into politics once the decorator leaves, and Valkyrie pushes her vegetables around on the plate, pretending not to listen as Tabitha and Skulduggery discuss the relationship between the English Sanctuary and the Swiss one. She helps herself to another glass of wine, and tries to catch Hansard’s eye. He’s too busy looking at the plans.

 She doesn’t _not_ care about politics, but after almost a century of being pulled between countries, it gets a little boring. And then she notices that Tabitha isn’t quite meeting Skulduggery’s gaze, which is a little odd, and she can see in how Skulduggery is moving, that he’s a little annoyed by it. Which is when she focuses on Skulduggery’s eyebrows and sees how they twitch and roll above his eyes like bugs. She opts for staring down at her plate and tries not to laugh.

 “Are you quite alright?” Skulduggery asks.

 She sucks her cheeks in, unable to look at him. “I’m fine,” she says.

 “Are you sure?” Tabitha asks, trying to get a better look at her from across the table. “Is the food alright?”

 “The food’s fine,” she manages.

 “You look like you sucked on a lemon,” Skulduggery says, and she looks at his eyebrows as they raise and flex like little furry arms and she starts laughing, waving her hand.

 “Stop it!” she says, eyes tearing up.

 “I have no idea what she’s on about,” Skulduggery says to Tabitha, those impressive brows furrowing, and she starts howling with laughter.

 “Your- your _eyebrows_ ,” she manages. Skulduggery picks up the spoon next to his plate and examines his reflection on the back of it.

 “Mm.” he says. “Yes, they’re certainly there, alright. Is something wrong with them?”

 Valkyrie is laughing too hard again to answer.

 “They’re… quite thick,” Tabitha says diplomatically.

 “I suppose they are,” Skulduggery concedes. “Good, strong, sturdy brows. Dependable. These brows could build a house, if they wanted.”

 Valkyrie howls with laughter. Even Tabitha’s mouth twitches a little.

 “You’re going to make me wet my pants,” Valkyrie pleads. He raises those brows at her, and she starts coughing, has to drink some water.

 “She’s extremely unprofessional,” he says to Tabitha apologetically. “My apologies.”

 “I can’t hold it against her,” Tabitha says. “I’m just glad it was her who said it, and not me.”

-

Tabitha takes her thumbs away from the tattoos on Valkyrie’s collarbones; her magic tingles across Valkyrie’s skin, and Valkyrie shivers.

 “Give it a try,” Skulduggery says, and Valkyrie taps them.

 He’s never told her what it feels like, and what it feels like is _weird_ , like she’s wearing an invisible second skin slipped comfortably over her own. Tabitha gasps, and Valkyrie makes a face, trying to get used to the sensation.

 “Does it look okay?” she asks, stretching out her fingers, which look older, less scarred. The long healed cut on her palm is gone, and she gingerly pokes at her own face.

 Skulduggery turns her towards a mirror.

 “Oh, wow,” Valkyrie says. It’s utterly disconcerting, seeing a stranger look back at her. “China’s still got it.”

 “Most impressive,” Tabitha marvels, stepping around her. “Send my regards to Sorrows, please. I’ve never seen anything like this before.”

 “This feels weird as hell,” Valkyrie frowns.

 Skulduggery laughs.

 “What is it?”

 “You still look like yourself,” he smiles. The smile turns into a frown. “You better work on that, actually. Try to match Tabitha’s facial expressions.”

 Tabitha gives that diplomatic smile. Valkyrie tries to match it, and after a couple of side by side examinations in the mirror, gets it right.

 “We should probably work on your accent as well,” Skulduggery says, and Valkyrie slumps over the armchair she’s leaning against.

 

-

She spends that night in their suite idly tapping the disguise on and off, reciting things aloud to Skulduggery in her passable English accent.

 Laying there in her bathrobe, she rolls over after a particularly difficult tongue twister and groans.

 “My tongue hurts,” she says. “Can we take a break?”

 “If we must,” Skulduggery says, turning to his tablet. “In fact, we should probably practice our dance.”

 “Our dance?” Valkyrie repeats dumbly. “What dance?”

 “It’s the Requiem Ball, he reminds her. “And we’re the hosts.”

 “So?”

 “So, we have the first dance.”

 “I can’t dance!”  
 “I’ve seen you dance. You’ve danced with me plenty of times.”

 She runs a hand through her short chopped hair. “Yeah, but not in front of several hundred people!”

 “It’ll just be a simple foxtrot,” he says.

 “Fine, fine,” she says, and rolls off the bed onto her feet. “Let’s get this over and done with.”

 He looks at her.

 “What?”

 “You’re… still in your bathrobe.”

 She looks down at herself. The robe stops a few inches above her knees. Perfect for not getting in the way of things. And she has a pair of undies beneath, so she doesn’t feel naked.

 And then she sees how he’s looking just to the side of her, and grins.

 “So?” she says innocently. “It’s comfortable. Come on. Let’s dance, hotshot.”

 He prises himself from the comfort of the armchair and scrolls through his music on the tablet. Some medium tempo music comes on, jazz that she knows he would classify as _boring_ , and he offers his hand to her.

 “Arms like this,” he says, lifting her arms just _so_ , so that her obliques have to engage. He raises his arms to match, shifting underneath her own, his left hand holding her right hand in a classic ballroom grip. There’s a decent amount of space between them. She relaxes, and he shakes his head.

 “Seriously?”

 “Yep,” he says, popping the _p_. “Straighten up. Weight on your left leg to start-”

 And then he moves, swirling her around the room. She lets out a shriek of surprised laughter, impressed with how smooth his leading is. She has no idea what he’s doing, but their bodies move so well together that it doesn’t even matter.

 “How was that?” he asks once the song ends.

 “Pretty okay,” she says.

 “Well, _you_ were terrible,” he says immediately (and a little bit gleefully), and before she can even respond, he’s adjusting her arms. “Sloppy. And you keep anticipating what I’m going to do.”

 “Duh,” she says. “Because I _know_ what you’re going to do.”

 He tilts his head. “Maybe. But that’s not how Tabitha dances.”

 She groans. “I’ve got to dance like a _politician_?”

 “No, you have to dance like _Tabitha._ ”

 Valkyrie closes her eyes. “Fine, fine.”

  Several songs later, she’s a little sweaty, her calves warm, but Skulduggery is making noises of approval every now and then between the comments of dissatisfaction, which is nice.

 “This is fine and all,” she says as he dips her through a reverse turn, “but what if the music isn’t like this?”

 “It doesn’t matter,” Skulduggery replies, stepping them through a grandiose circle. “You don’t have to dance with anyone else after the first song.”

 “ _I_ might not, but _Tabitha_ would,” she says.

 “You aren’t wrong,” he says thoughtfully. “Well, it will still be the same genre. Just varying speeds. Not any faster than what we’ve practiced, though.”

 “I can’t foxtrot if it’s _really_ slow.”

 “Well, no,” he says.

 “So what would we do?”

 He doesn’t say anything, just turns back to his tablet and selects another song. Where the other one was polite, ballroom sort of jazz, this is _blues_ , soft and sad, _genuine_.

 “Come here,” he says quietly, opening his arms like he’s asking for a hug.

 Raising her eyebrows, she steps closer to him. Where before their posture was upright, rigid, far apart, he draws them close together, his arm resting beneath her shoulder blades and his left hand bringing hers to rest up against sternum.

 Her heart pounds, her cheek brushing against his jaw.

  _Lord_ , the song croons, _ain’t nobody’s business if I do_.

 She expects him to go into a simple, high school-esque two step, but he shifts his weight a little, turns her so that he’s dipping her slightly, and she’s looking up at him now. Those eye sockets are empty, but she knows he’s matching her gaze.

 And then he turns her back into a step, pulsing and holding on the other foot in time with that gentle drum, and then they’re lazing across the floor like caramel. Skulduggery leads her through moves she would never have thought she could do, deep gentle lunges that have his thigh resting against the crease of her, sharp turns that contrast with slow ones, sending her feet arcing out behind her, that feeling of clenching and releasing, a gentle pulse in time to the beat.

 Her heart pounds all the while, as she gets a feel for what _this_ style is, feels how this music is warm, unpretentious, a little sad but a little glad too.

 Skulduggery’s hand against hers and she closes her eyes, presses her cheek against his, that cool bone against the flush of her cheeks.

  _Just the next day, ain't nothin' shakin’. It ain't nobody's business if I do_ .  
He turns her slowly, his hand dipping back against the roll of her waist, takes their momentum and turns it into a tight spin, levels it out. She laughs in his ear, and he lets out a soft huff of a chuckle.  She turns and rests her forehead against his cheek. He misses a step, and she pretends not to notice.

   _Ain't nobody's business if I do,_ the song murmurs, and the song stops. They stand there, the silence soft, arms wrapped around each other. She looks up at him, and he down at her-

 Skulduggery steps away quite abruptly, leaving her cold and lonely, somehow. She wasn’t ready for that to end, and the thought leaves her throat dry.

 He clears the throat he doesn’t have. “So, that’s blues dancing.”

 She nods. “Okay. Alright.” Pretends there isn’t a line of aching heat streaking down her belly, needy and gooey.

 “I think that’s enough for tonight,” Skulduggery continues. “I don’t want to overwhelm you.”

 “Of course not,” Valkyrie murmurs. “I’m going to go brush my teeth.”

 “Marvellous,” Skulduggery says absently, doing something with his tablet. She looks back as she crosses into the bathroom, and he’s still standing there, holding his phone, looking out the window.

-

Skulduggery spends most of his time with Hansard the next day, leaving Valkyrie to a) shadow Tabitha and b) replay that dance over and over in her mind.

 “What do you think of this dress?” Tabitha asks, coming out of her walk-in wardrobe wearing a sleek dress with questionable sleeves.

 Valkyrie shrugs and says something noncommittal, thinking about how he had held her hand against his ribs.

 “You seem quite distracted,” Tabitha says, a little sharply. “I hope I’m not boring you.”

 “No, no,” Valkyrie says hastily. “Sorry. I’m. A little tired.” She refocuses on the dress. “I don’t like the sleeves.”

 Tabitha examines them. They’re bell shaped. “Good call.” She disappears back into the wardrobe.

 They’re picking out an outfit for the Ball tomorrow night, an outfit that both of them approve of. Something Tabitha would wear, and something Valkyrie can move in.

 While Tabitha get changed, Valkyrie pinches the bridge of her nose.

  _You two seem a little closer than I remember,_ Hansard had said. Of course they are, he hasn’t seen her for years now, and she basically lives at Skulduggery’s house-

 And there’s always been something there, hasn’t there? Maybe it was platonic at first, the comfort and ease of a close friend, but after literally decades together, decades of running and sleeping and eating, brushes with death and cramped hotel rooms, it’s blossomed, grown, and here she is, in love with a dead man. With her best friend.

 It’s not something she’s been denying, not something that keeps her up at night, but rather, lets her sleep, something she’s eased into like a comfortable pair of shoes. The last few years had been enough for her, but last night- that _dance_ -

 Tabitha re-emerges, wearing a deep red velvet dress that hugs her curves, a slit up her thigh. She puts her hands on her hips.

 “What about this?” she asks, turning for Valkyrie. “It’s stretchy, so you should be able to move just fine.”

 Valkyrie leans forward. The hemline just stops short of the floor in heels, and doesn’t look half bad. She doesn’t like the velvet, but Tabitha is the politest person to ever dislike her so she doesn’t mention it.

 “It’s the best one so far,” she says.

 “It’s a little more demure than I’d usually wear, but this _is_ the Ball, after all,” Tabitha sighs. “We’ll go with this one, shall we?”

 “Sounds good to me,” Valkyrie says. “You mind if I go to the bathroom?”

 “The closest one is three doors down on your left,” Tabitha says as she goes back into the wardrobe to change, and Valkyrie leaves the room.

 She has her hand on the doorknob when Hansard appears at the other end.

 “Hey, Hansard,” she says.

 “Hello,” Hansard says with Skulduggery’s voice, and her heart clenches even as she laughs.

 “That’s _weird_ ,” she complains. “I don’t like that at all.”

 “My apologies,” he says, and now it’s much closer to how Hansard sounds. “Is that better?”

 “Yeah. Still weird though.”

 He blinks, and the facade wipes itself away.

 “Much better,” she says approvingly.

 “Hansard is very boring,” Skulduggery confides in her. “I don’t know what you ever saw in him.”

 “He was hot,” Valkyrie shrugs. “I was young.”

 “At least Fletcher was amusing, in a pathetic puppy sort of way,” Skulduggery says, and hums. “Actually, now that I think of it you haven’t seen anyone for a very long time.”

 She rolls her eyes. “Don’t remind me.”

 “I won’t,” Skulduggery replies, his voice a strange tone.

 Valkyrie doesn’t know how to respond to that, so she says simply, “I’m gonna go pee, shall we grab some dinner after?”

 “I’ll allow it,” Skulduggery says, the facade flowing back up. “I’m going to go and scare some waiters into thinking Hansard is a murderer. See you soon.”

-

  


They retire to their suite after another awkward dinner and Valkyrie glances at Skulduggery. Or at least, what little of him isn’t being swallowed up by the armchair.

 “We should practice more,” she says before she loses the nerve.

 He looks up at her, resting his tablet on his lap. “Practice what? Your accent is remarkably passable.”

 “Dancing,” she says, pretending to be unfazed.

 “Oh.”

 “We don’t have to,” she says hastily.

 “Nonsense,” he says. “Your dancing _does_ need a lot of work.” His voice is neutral; neither affectionate teasing, nor the tone he takes when giving genuine criticisms.

 She stands up. She hasn’t gotten changed yet, wearing the suit Skulduggery had tailored for her long ago. Skulduggery slips his jacket off, and she does the same, waiting for him to put on some music.

 Again, the boring foxtrot jazz. She pouts a little, but reigns her face in when he turns back around, approaching her.

 “Let’s see what you remember,” he says.

 As it turns out, she remembers quite a bit; Skulduggery can’t find anything _overtly awful_ to correct her on, as he delicately puts it. They dance through several songs of varying speeds, but none of them are as slow as Valkyrie wants, none of them have that caramel rhythm, chest to chest and cheek to cheek.

 At the end of the seventh song, she breaks their hold and goes over to the tablet, flicking through his collection. He watches on bemusedly as she finds his blues playlist, the one he likes to put on in the Bentley during late night stake outs, picks a song she likes.

 When she turns back around, his posture has completely changed, stiffened.

 “Come on then,” she says, pretending not to notice.

 “I don’t know if this is a good idea,” he says.

 Her heart falls into her ass. “What?”  
 “We should be practicing your foxtrot,” he says. “Tabitha and Hansard wouldn’t dance to this. Not in public.”

 “That’s not what you said last night,” she says, finally recognising that tone in his voice. It’s so rare she had forgotten what it sounded like, can count on one hand how often she’s heard it.

 Embarrassment.

 Skulduggery’s _embarrassed._

“I never said Tabitha and Kray would dance the blues,” he says quietly.

 “Forget it,” she says, embarrassed herself, _stupid_ , Skulduggery doesn’t _want_ what you do, he was just indulging her and she’s made a big fuss over _nothing_. She reaches out to the tablet to turn the music off so she can die in peace.

 “Wait,” he blurts.

 “But-”

 “You’re right,” he says quickly. “We can’t afford to slip up because your slow dance skills aren’t up to scratch.”

 She raises a brow but is too grateful to press him on his shaky logic; she so, so desperately wants him to feel this as well. He approaches her, and they both come together like the sun slides into the horizon, gentle and natural and warm.

 This song is gentle, filling the big room around them. Skulduggery doesn’t move like last night; he moves far less, no flashy contrapposto turns that have her body moving into swirls or arcs.

 He moves, she thinks through the haze of warmth, like a shy lover.

 Her face burrows into the side of his collar, his cheek nestling against hers, and they move on the micro scale, breathing in time, tiny shifts in angles. She can feel his hand fisting in the back of her shirt as they move together in agonising slowness, hips flush against hips, warmth nuzzling down her core.

 It’s been almost half a century since she last had sex, she realises, but it’s been over _two centuries_ for Skulduggery, and that thought lends new gravity to the way he somehow manages to feel hesitant in how they wrap around each other.

 A great rush of affection through her, and she smiles into him. When the song ends, Valkyrie is already moving towards the tablet to choose another.

 She’s going to have to woo _him_ , she realises, not the other way round, and now she goes to the playlist of songs _she_ likes, ones he deems worthy of the Bentley’s speaker system.

 “I’m leading this time,” she announces. Skulduggery stands there mutely, and she nods to herself as she selects her next song, returning to his side as a low, warm hum starts, a gentle beat resonating.

 “If you step on my toes,” he threatens half heartedly.

 “I’ll take care of you,” she says sincerely, and that shuts him right up as she copies how he had held her, sliding her right arm around his waist, taking his hand and holding it to her chest, holding him close.

 Skulduggery seems even tenser somehow, but he grips her hand with a ferociousness that stops her from halting this, from stepping back within their comfortable no-man’s land of a relationship.

 _I'm so full of love I could barely eat_ , the song murmurs, a man’s voice hushed, and she feels Skulduggery tremble as she turns them. She laughs as she trips over her own feet, and tries again, a little smoother this time. Skulduggery begins relaxing, and she tries that dragging step he lead her into last night, stepping between his legs and easing herself back so he leans against her, and now it’s her thigh against the crease of him, feels how his cheek presses against hers in response, a hitch in the breath he doesn’t have.

  _My baby never fret none,_ the song goes, _about what my hands and my body done._

“You are incorrigible,” he murmurs into her ear. She tries that tight spin he’s drawn them into before, and her ankle gets stuck between his and they tumble to the floor.

It’s not a nice, sexy, flirty thing, landing conveniently on top of each other; Valkyrie bangs her head against his and he accidentally elbows her in the ribs on their way down, and it looks not unlike a game of Twister, _right foot yellow_ ; Valkyrie starts laughing as Skulduggery tries to pull his tie out from under her.

 He sighs. “Clearly I need to remind you how it’s _really_ done.”

 His voice is mischevious, rough, and she shivers as he pulls them both up.

 “You’ve all the subtlety of a wrecking ball,” Skulduggery tells her, and plays his next song.

 The moment the opening horns swell, she laughs at him. “ _I_ have no subtlety?” she says, mock outraged, as Etta James’ _I Just Wanna Make Love to You_ starts, brass and cheek.

 Skulduggery says nothing, takes her hand and swirls them into a wild spin that has her breathless, and oh but _this_ is dancing.

 “Tabitha would _never_ dance like this,” she laughs as he spins her away from him, catching her and pulling her into a dip that he holds as they pulse to the drums.

 “It’s fortunate I’m not dancing with her then,” he replies, pulling her back up against him as they step double time, crossing the room. Skulduggery sends her out and brings her back with a turn so her back is flush against his chest, and they groove against each other, with each other.

 Valkyrie thinks of the clubs she’s been to with her various dates and partners, but none of them could dance worth a damn, none of them made her laugh so easily, none of them ever held her with that trembling fierceness.

 Skulduggery lets her into a deep dip as the song ends, and they hold like that, Valkyrie’s chest heaving as she pants and laughs and feels so deeply, deeply, happy.

 “I hope that was educational,” Skulduggery tells her solemnly.

 She waggles her brows. “There’s a few other things you could teach me a thing or two about.”

 He pulls her up and lets go of her.  “Perhaps another time,” he says. “You should get some sleep.”

 She huffs. “Can’t you see I’m trying to romance you?” she asks, only joking a little.

 He lowers his head a little, and she knows if his facade was on, his brows would be raised.

 “I don’t like playing games, Valkyrie,” he says, gentle but firm.

 She blurts it out with a fierceness that surprises both of them: “I’m not playing, Skulduggery.”

 He stands there, very still, and she feels implored to keep talking.

 “I want… this.” she gestures helplessly between them.

 “What do you mean?” he asks slowly, stepping towards her.

 She looks away, embarrassed. “You know what I mean.”

 He shakes his head. “Tell me,” he says, but he isn’t ordering, he’s _pleading_ as he steps closer like he’s facing a skittish animal.

 “You,” she says, and the dam breaks. “I want you. I haven’t wanted anyone else for almost half my life, and I never thought you could feel the same, I was so content to just be best friends but last night, how you _held_ me, that wasn’t acting, you held me like-”

 Skulduggery leans down and presses his teeth to her lips, those long fingers cupping her elbows. They stay like that for several glorious seconds, and Valkyrie literally goes weak at the knees, grabbing onto his upper arms for support.

 He pulls away. “I couldn’t think of any other way to get you to stop talking,” he murmurs, and she laughs.

 “You goon,” she mumbles, but he’s already kissing her again, arms sliding around her. There’s nothing hesitant now as he kisses his way down her neck, so, _so_ gently using his teeth to nip at the skin joining the collarbones, and she lets out a hoarse sort of moan.

 “I always thought you would be loud,” he says into her neck, bites it a little harder, and she’s almost sobbing with how good it feels.

 “How long?” she asks him.

 “Too long,” he tells her, and then she’s pulling his tie off, unbuttoning his shirt. He reaches for his tattoos, and she puts her hand over his, stopping him. He pauses, and takes that hand, kisses it as he looks up at her. That hot desperation is gone now, and those teeth press slow and sweet up her arm and back to her lips. They keep on this way until it’s too hot to bear.

 She feels shy taking off her clothes, but then, he’s practically seen all of her. She’s still gratified when he says quietly, “You’re iridescent.”

 “You’re not so bad yourself,” she tells him, and sets to stripping him down too.

 “I would disagree,” he says a little sadly, but doesn’t stop her from unbuckling his belt, from sitting him on the bed so she can undo his shoes and pull off his socks.

 She kisses his phalanges and he makes a startled yelp of a noise.

 “Are you _ticklish_?” Valkyrie says in shock.

 “Don’t you _dare_ ,” he warns her. “I _will_ kick you.”

 She pats the top of his foot and kisses up his tibia. His bone is dry and cool, clean. She remembers when he revealed to her that he scrubs his bones every week with some godawful bone-wash Synecdoche put together for him, and smiles to herself. He smells like, well, bone. Clean bone at least, thank God, but he smells a little like the Bentley, nice leather and very faintly of the cologne she bought him as a joke gift a few years back.

 She comes to his pelvis and looks up at him. He looks down at her, and she can’t help but laugh.

 “Is my size amusing to you?” he jokes, but there’s that embarrassment just behind it as well. The last person to touch him intimately was Abyssinia, and Valkyrie wants to be so much better than that for him.  

 “I want to make you feel good,” she tells him, pressing a kiss to the curve of his hip. She reminds herself to look up the right names for his bones later.

 “You _are_ making me feel good,” he tells her earnestly. She runs a finger right along the top of his thigh bone, and he shivers. Valkyrie leans in and hesitantly kisses the same spot. He moans now, the sound rich like dark chocolate, and almost unwittingly, her aura vision flitters on.

 They still have so many unanswered questions about her powers, but she sees how his aura is swirling, concentrated at certain points, and she instinctively licks at one just over the joint of the leg and hip and he gasps.

 “That’s absolutely no fair at all,” he says roughly, and pulls her up to meet him, kissing her again.

 “Since when do you play by the rules?” she pants into his neck as his fingers sink into the swell of her ass.

 “Hypocrite,” he mumbles, which it _self_ is hypocritical, but she’s too busy thrusting into his spine to point it out.

 They must look an absolute picture, the two of them, must look absolutely fucking _ridiculous_. Valkyrie can’t bring herself to care, as they lean back onto the bed and he braces himself over her, fingers gently tweaking at her nipples. She cries out, and he murmurs, that rich voice she loves rasping, fingers roaming down her belly, chasing that heat.

 “I hope you know I’m ruining these gloves for you,” he says very solemnly.

 “Your sacrifice is appreciated and noted,” she breathes, squirming closer to his hand.

 “I expect formal recognition,” he tells her. “Maybe a ceremonial presentation.”

 “I’ll buy you a medal,” she manages, as two of his fingers sink into her and his thumb runs around her clit.

 Skulduggery may not be a certified sexpert, as Fletcher so cringingly once called himself, but he’s a quick study, of course, noting every change in her moan and her twitches until he has it down to a fine art, his hand sliding in and out of her sweet and slow. She’s slick and needy and has her head buried against his collarbones, panting as he painstakingly draws her closer to release.

 “Please,” she gasps.

 “I’ve never seen you so polite,” he observes, and she laughs.

 So much laughing, she thinks, such comfort and warmth and _goodness_. She’s so close, so happy.

 “Skulduggery,” she sighs, and he moves away so he can look at her.

 “Valkyrie?” he replies, his hand stopping.

 “If you stop,” she warns him, “I may have to kill you.”

 This startles a laugh out of him, and his hand is faster now, and she’s clutching onto him for dear life-

 “I love you,” he whispers, and she comes, warmth and heat trembling through her as she shudders with it.

 They both lay there for a bit, as she regains a semblance of normal thought. Skulduggery holds her, watching her; once she can move again without twitching, she rolls towards him.

 “I’m exceptional, aren’t I?” he says smugly. She rests her hand on his cheekbone and pulls his forehead to hers.

 “I love you,” she says tenderly, and kisses his teeth, his cheekbones, his chin. And then she moves down the bed.

 “What are you doing?” he says, watching her settle between his thigh bones.

 “I’m going to rock your world,” she says tenderly.

 “I don’t have anything to _rock_ ,” he points out.

 She shrugs. “We’ll make it work,” she says mysteriously, turning her aura vision back on.

 There’s those points again, the three biggest ones right where his dick would be, when he used to have one; energy not situated over bone but over what looks like nothing.

 She can’t lick air unfortunately, so she comes back up to him.

 “Told you,” he says.

 “I’m not finished yet,” Valkyrie tells him, holding him as she reaches down, her fingers buzzing with electricity, and swirls her finger around that nexus of red energy, and he gasps, slick gloves digging into her back.

 “Who’s exceptional now?” she teases him, and he moans as she puts more power into it. She feels herself getting wet again, but she’s enjoying his reactions so much it doesn’t even stop her.

 “ _Valkyrie_ ,” he says so hoarsely, and she tries jolting that power in various levels, still swirling her fingers in that space between his hips, and then suddenly he’s gasping into her neck, bucking upwards. She keeps going until he stops.

 “It’s been a while,” he manages to say. Now it’s _her_ looking at him smugly.

“ _Now_ who’s exceptional?” she asks him. He brushes a few strands of hair from her forehead.

 “You are,” he says gently. “And apparently you’re a human vibrator, as well.”

 She shrugs. “Ah, well, I _am_ spectacular.”

 They lay together for a long time, his fingers idly tracing up and down her spine.

 “We should probably sleep,” she says.

 “Probably.” He pauses. “Would you like me to give the facade the test drive it never needed?”

 “God, _yes_.”

-

  


Valkyrie and Skulduggery do not get a lot done the next day. Do they roam the halls, making last minute checks for any possible security breaches? Yes. Do they subtly interrogate all the staff? Yes. Do they order the Cleavers to stand in specific locations for security? Yes, yes and yes.But they come up with nothing quite quickly, so they also spend a lot of time making out in seedy corners. Skulduggery discovers a new found love for patting her butt. It’s all very lovely, ultimately so when the supervising Cleaver brings them an angry little English man that had been lurking under the buttresses outside.

 Skulduggery only has to walk in the door for the man to immediately confess he’s the one they’ve been looking for, and Valkyrie contacts the English Sanctuary, who sends out their Head Detective. An hour later, the man is in jail and Skulduggery and Valkyrie can very suddenly go home.

 It’s rare for a case to wrap up so easily, so quickly, and they both feel a little at a loose end.

 “Do you want to stay for the Ball?” he asks her, as she crams her clothes back in her suitcase.

 “Nah,” she says. “I want to go home. Order some pizza from that place I like. Maybe you can eat me out on your kitchen counter.”

 “That,” he says, “sounds absolutely delightful.”

 So they do.

 And it is.

**Author's Note:**

> hhorghhh I busted this one out in three days from literally nowhere I HOPE YOU ENJOYED!
> 
> I'm a dancer myself so that definitely played into it! Here all the links to stuff that inspired this. Please note I have nothing against ballroom styles, but I can't imagine Valkyrie would especially love it.
> 
> Foxtrot video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AHFfvSoFeCk (also the type of jazz that Skul would have played).
> 
> first blues dance: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XMa8mkkZ3ao (first couple mainly but general vibe here!)
> 
> First blues song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VgQA5A1BHuQ
> 
> second blues dance: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sNBYp2_7jzA (micro blues, focuses on very small movement, not a performance style, very intimate
> 
> Second blues song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wS3Kd58XGVY 
> 
> third blues dance: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HtXSPYEiKCY (noticeably more upbeat and cheeky)
> 
> Third "blues" song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z0-rUcvuFqA


End file.
